Constants and Variables
by OZ x OZ
Summary: A man, a lighthouse, a city. Those are the constants of every world we know of. Booker DeWitt comes to Columbia to wipe away a debt, but he gets help and hindrance from the most unexpected places. A collab between myself and Juubi-k
1. Chapter 1

**Me and Juub-K do not own BioShock. Kevin Levine, Irrational Games, and 2K Games do.**

* * *

_Maine Coast, 1914_

About time.

Those were the words going through Booker DeWitt's head as he got onto the dock in the storm. Those two have talked for what seemed like forever, and he had to double check the contents of his box just to pass the time.

Bring the girl, and wipe away the debt. Get some girl named Elizabeth, return her to New York unharmed, and all of his gambling debts would be cleared. No more loan sharks. No more trouble with the tax people. A clean slate. A chance for a clean slate.

Before him, a great lighthouse stood like a beacon in the darkness. He heard the rowing of the two people, a man and a woman, behind him as they rowed away on their boat.

"Shall we tell him when we'll be returning?" Asked the woman.

"Would that change anything?"

"It might give him some comfort." He could have sworn he could have seen the man shrugged.

"At least that's something we can agree on."

"Hey!" Booker DeWitt called out over the rain and crashing waves. "Is somebody meeting me here?"

"I'd certainly hope so," the rower called back.

"It does seem like a dreadful place to be stranded," commented the woman. Clearly she was amused at his expense, making the ex-Pinkerton roll his eyes.

"Ah, well maybe there's someone inside…" He muttered under his breath as he walked the length of the dock onto the island, up the set of stairs and towards the door leading into the lighthouse. However, he noticed a note on the door.

**DeWitt**

**Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt**

**THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE**

Ignoring the obvious reason he was being soaked to the bone in the first place, Booker knocked. It was more of him slamming his fist, which he had done during his Pinkerton days. Some habits never die.

"Excuse me. It's Booker DeWitt. I guess you're expecting me…" He found the door unlocked and entered, seeing a stairway to the right and before him a lit lamp near the central pillar, along with several books, a water basin, and a board with letters. He looked down into the basin, seeing little water, but enough to see his own reflection. He looked up at the board

**OF THY SINS**

**I SHALL WASH THEE**

Baptism? Washing away sins? Booker scoffed. Soaking your head in water doesn't wipe away one's sins. Only idiots believe in that garbage.

"Good luck with that pal." He turned and saw another similar board, illuminated by the light from the upper floor.

**FROM SODOM**

**SHALL I LEAD THEE**

"Is anyone here? Hello?" Booker called out. Wasn't someone supposed to meet him here? He heard the music coming from the record player. He took his time looking around the room, seeing towels, books, and several cabinets. He noticed a telephone, but knew that getting someone on the receiving end was impossible so he didn't bother with the phone and the map that was connected on various locations vie pin and string.

He even spotted a sink, a bed, and an ice-box. Was someone living here?

Booker continued up the stairs and spotted a shoved over book case and in a corner illuminated by a light-

"…shit." He saw a person, unmoving with a large puddle of blood at his feet and his face was covered by a bloodied towel. Who that person was, he didn't know. The lighthouse's resident? And he spotted a paper on the person's chest.

**DON'T DISAPPOINT US**

'_Well you made your point_,' Booker thought to himself as he approached the staircase and spotted another sign.

**IN NEW EDEN SOIL**

**SHALL I PLANT THEE**

He climbed to the lighthouse's stairs until he found himself at the top, and staring before a door with intricate bronze designs, and three bells with a light over each one. Above the bells was an angel with it's wing's spread. Upon closer inspection, Booker noticed the bells had a symbol for each bell. A Scroll on the right bell. Key in the middle bell. And a sword on the left bell.

"Wait a minute, that card…" He opened his box and got out the card. It had the three symbols with a number attached.

Scroll once. Key twice. Sword twice.

He rung the bells in the order presented by the card, the dull lights lit up.

"Huh."

And a loud horn rang out, as if it was all around him, and the gray stormy skies turned red, and lights of red were shining through the clouds and down to the ocean, like search lights on zeppelins.

"What in the world…?" He heard the horns ring out a total of five times, and each to a similar tune as the tune of the bells. He turned his attention back to the central room, and heard a similar light pinging sound, again five times, again similar to the tunes of the bells.

He heard the large horns responding. Wait, was he communicating to whatever…was above the clouds? He heard ringing again and saw the bells descend and inside the room a chair flipped over.

"All right. Looks like they expect me to sit in their fancy chair." Booker mused to himself as he approached the red chair and sat down on it, his arms resting on the armrests.

"So now wha-" He was interrupted when metal clamps latched over his wrists. "The hell?" Booker struggled to break free of his bindings when he heard a female voice and the floor literally flip out underneath him.

"_Make yourself ready, pilgrim. The bindings are there as a safeguard_."

"The hell is going on?!" Booker asked himself as his breathing elevated as metal panels spired around him. "This can't be good…aah!" The panels closed around him, and the felt himself being flipped over in the chair and his pistol fell out of his pocket, lost to four cylinder objects below.

"No no-" And fire erupted from the four...objects below him, and it was getting really hot. "Goddamnit!"

"_Ascension….Ascension in the count of FIVE_-" The voice deepened from female to male.

"No no no no no."

"_FOUR. THREE. TWO. ONE_."

Booker felt his stomach fall down to his behind as he felt himself being lifted off, as if on a fast rising elevator, and his breathing and sounds of panic could be heard within the cabin. He tried to break free, but couldn't.

'_I didn't sign up for this_!' He cursed mentally as the voice continued it's "Ascension" mantra.

"Alright Booker…just stay calm…"

"_Five thousand feet….ten thousand feet…fifteen thousand feet_."

Booker felt as if his heart was going to burst out of his chest, break down the window in front of him, and fall back to the sea below. He didn't blame his heart. He would be trying to do the same thing if he wasn't restricted.

And he was blinded by light, and saw buildings…all old style buildings.

"_Hallelujah_"

Booker calmed down, feeling his jaw drop to his knees. The sight was…heavenly. Angelic. A city in the clouds, with American flags flying everywhere. He even noticed a giant statue of a great winged angel in the distance.

"Wha…?" The ex-Pinkerton was speechless. He spotted fireworks in the distance, alongside zeppelins of various shapes and sizes, and there was islands, multitudes of the floating islands with golden buildings!

He felt himself descend, and on a nearby clock tower he saw a large poster or banner with an old man with a great white beard looking out. The words 'Father Comstock' were above him, possibly his name and title.

The cabin met with a bump, making Booker jump. Machinery sounds rang everywhere as he felt himself descend again, like on an elevator. How did this flying…room even get here? And how did it time and land on a perfect spot?

Then, nothing but darkness but Booker was still on alert, his eyes glued to the window before him. Before he saw light again and countless gears, as if he was inside a clock tower of sorts. Before him were letters in gold.

**WHY WOULD HE SEND**

**HIS SAVIOR UNTO US**

Booker heard the sound of a chorus singing…

**IF WE WILL NOT RAISE**

**A FINGER FOR OUR**

**OWN SALVATION?**

**AND THOUGH WE**

**DESERVED NOT HIS**

**MERCY**

**HE HAS LED US TO THIS NEW EDEN**

'_Did I enter a church or something_?' Booker thought to himself.

**A LAST CHANCE**

**FOR REDEMPTION.**

'_Redemption huh_?' He thought to himself. Yeah, this whole city in the clouds may have caught him off guard, but he came here for a reason. To redeem himself. To make the slate clean.

Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt.

'_My last chance_…' He thought to himself as he saw light once again, and saw a stained glass picture with words and Father Comstock pointing towards the sky, people all around him looking up to him and some were in prayer.

**AND THE PROPHET SHALL LEAD**

**THE PEOPLE TO A NEW EDEN.**

And countless candles were all around the stained glass.

'_Yeah, I'm in a place of worship_.' He saw the metal panel in front of him lift upward after the sounds of machinery came and went, and his bindings opened, freeing himself. Booker stepped out of the cabin and entered the room, seeing water on the floor.

'_I need to get out of here. Time to find an exit_.' He thought as he turned left, and began his descent.

* * *

_1961, Glen Cove, New York._

Asleep at last.

Jack Ryan gazed down at the four little faces; eyes closed and peaceful, their blankets pulled up to their chins and tucked in at the sides. Even after five months, five months since he had returned, the wonder of it had yet to fade.

Four little girls. Four little daughters.

Four little sisters.

Despite the shiver that ran down his spine, Jack Ryan still smiled. The memory of that brief nightmare still haunted him, and no doubt it always would. But it could not deny him the victory he had won, the happiness he had snatched from that terrible place. Those four little girls, who now called him father, would always remind him of it.

He scanned his eyes over them one last time; Annette, Beth, Catherine, and Delores. All so similar, yet each one unique. Each very different, yet united by a common experience.

That was the polite way of putting it. Jack sometimes wondered if the girls would ever truly forget what had been done to them in that place. Had they forgotten? They never spoke of it, at least not to him, or in his hearing. But Jack knew, only too well, what a smiling face could hide.

He closed the door, gently so as not to wake them, and tip-toed away along the corridor. His tip-toeing soon became a walk, which took him down the stairs, through the house, and onto his back porch. He lit a cigarette, drew on it, and stood where he was, taking it all in. The sun was going down, and the waves were lapping gently against the shore.

He was at peace.

Jack knew he would never forget his time in Rapture. He had seen too much, felt too much, done too much. He had wandered through the ruins of one man's dream, stalked by monsters, taunted by the demons that hid in human hearts. He had killed, he had destroyed, he had survived.

He had saved them.

_"You've done a lot. Done things few would dare. And because of it, you have showed me that we can get a chance of redemption. And I shall not make a mistake like that ever again. And the little ones. You have given them a chance."_

He thought of Doctor Tenenbaum. He hadn't seen her since their parting five months earlier. He remembered that careworn face, aged before its time by the weight of remorse. He remembered what she had done, and what she had helped him to undo. He had no idea what had become of her. No doubt the government had her locked away somewhere, coughing up the secrets she and Suchong had unlocked in the depths of the ocean; the secret of ADAM. If those in charge had any sense, they would heed her warnings and leave it well alone.

Jack sighed. By all rights she belonged in jail for crimes against humanity. But in spite of everything he hoped things would turn out okay for her. She had made bad choices, done something unforgivable. But she had also chosen to undo it, to make amends for what she had allowed to happen.

At least she'd had a choice. For him, there had been no choice at all. He had been born to serve a purpose, a twenty-year-old without a soul, conditioned to obey, to kill, and even to die. He had obeyed, and he had killed, and it was only thanks to Brigid Tenenbaum that he had not also died. And it was only thanks to her that he was finally free.

Free to live. Free to be a father to four little girls.

A growl drew him from his reverie. He looked up, wondering for a moment where it was coming from.

"Zeus?" For it was indeed Zeus, the family puppy, a Great Dane to be exact. He was standing in the garden a few metres away, erect and staring straight.

"What is it boy?" he asked, amused. "Is it Mrs. Baker again?"

That woman was one of the few flies in the ointment that was his new life. It wasn't that she was particularly unpleasant. It was that she seemed convinced that what a man like him needed more than anything else was a wife, and that her still-unmarried daughter was the ideal candidate.

And she wasn't the only one. His single-father status had made him an object of fascination to the womenfolk of the neighborhood, especially the divorcees for some reason. They rarely missed an opportunity to press their cases.

But there was no one around. Jack's brow furrowed as he glanced left and right, wondering what could have disturbed Zeus so.

And there it was.

Jack didn't know what he was looking at. It was...it looked like water running down glass, except it wasn't moving in any particular direction, and it was just...floating there, right in front of him. He stepped closer, squinting at the apparition, wondering if it was just a trick of the light.

And then he saw something. Jack stared, not quite believing, as he saw something take shape within the apparition. It was a woman in a long dress, with a pair of broad, angelic wings flaring out from her back. It was gold, a statue of some kind. But where was it? And why was he seeing it?

He stepped closer, ignoring Zeus' increasingly harsh growls and every instinct warning him to back away, to leave it well alone. He reached out, and with the very tip of his fingers, he touched it.

All at once he was moving, falling, as if some giant hand had grabbed him by the belly button. He cried out in protest, but it was over as soon as it had begun.

His eyes ached as light bombarded them. He screwed them shut, cautiously blinking as they grew accustomed to the sunlight; bright, warm sunlight.

He looked around. His garden was gone, as was Zeus and his house. He was standing in a courtyard, with an ornate fountain in the centre and stone pavement under his feet, the walls lined with grass and planters. He looked up, and saw a gate with a great neon sign emblazoned over it.

**MONUMENT ISLAND**

His eyes took him up, and up, following what was behind the gate. There was the golden angel, the one he had seen before. It was enormous, at least as big as the Statue of Liberty, looming over him like some ancient monument of a bygone era.

What was it? Why had it brought him here? Away from his home!

Away from his daughters!

* * *

There was the sound of knocking, more like pounding, as Booker's eyes blurred as he awoke. He was asleep on his desk, countless horse racing cards of failed bets strewn about several beer bottles and his pistol.

"Who's there? Who's there?!" He called out, getting to his feet. He grabbed his head, feeling the effect of a hangover.

"Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt." Said a distorted voice from the door to his office.

"What do you want?"

"We had a deal DeWitt!" The voice sounded very impatient as Booker stumbled towards the door way. "Open this door, right now!"

"I told you…" Booker panted. "I'm not going to do it! Now go away…" He turned away.

"Mr. DeWitt! Mr. DeWitt!" The pounding only got harder as Booker let out a sigh of frustration, went to his door and opened it. And he was blinded by light.

And then, chaos. Gasping, he saw skycrapers that reached into the clouds, and there was fires. Smoke. Screams. Death.

And in the dark heavens, zeppelins rained fire and fury, the moon covered by the floating buildings. He could swore that he could make out some kind of angel high in the sky.

One of the zeppelins who was launching fireballs launched one his way and Booker's eyes widened as the light blinded him.

* * *

He gasped for breath, feeling cold and wet instead of burning to ashes. Coughing, his sight slowly returned as statues looked down at him. He recognized that the statues had familiar faces. George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson. The American Founding Fathers?

But Booker didn't care as he heard the voices of others minding their own business as he stood up. The ex-Pinkerton growled as he waded through the water, passing by several white-robed prayers.

"That idiot priest needs to know the difference between baptizing a man and drowning one." He grumbled. After he exited that flying cabin, he explored the church and found himself before a congregation and the priest would allow him through if they baptized him. Damn old man almost drowned him.

He wiped his eyes. "I need to find a landmark and figure where the hell I am." He walked out of the pool, ignoring some of the stares the other white-robed individuals were throwing his way. He heard prayers praising 'Father Washington' and labeling the other two Founding Fathers as 'Fathers' and revered them as if they were messiahs.

'_Nutjobs_.' Booker thought to himself as he worked his way through the garden and turned right and saw a sign arched above a doorway.

**THE SEED OF THE PROPHET**

**SHALL SIT THE THRONE AND DROWN IN FLAME**

**THE MOUNTAINS OF MAN**

"Just cause a city flies don't mean it ain't got its fair share of fools," scoffed the ex-Pinkerton as he shook off from water. "All right…still got a girl to find…" He said as he approached the door and opened it.

And he was taken in by the site. The buildings and streets were floating in the clouds, all looking as if they were twenty years old. He even noticed some sort of…rail system carrying large boxes of cargo to god knows where. And straight ahead was a statue of a man holding a sword and pointing behind him. Judging by his beard, the statue must be that 'Father Comstock' everyone has been so crazy about. The platform where he was standing on lowered and connected itself to the main street, and Booker walked forward.

"Good day." Commented a man walking by with a woman. Probably man and wife.

"Good to see you." Booker replied. '_Just keep a low profile. Find the girl, get out_.' He thought to himself as he kept walking on the brickroad. He spotted more cities in the clouds, some how floating.

Everyone was so cheerful and pleasant. They had American figures in history as icons. Just what…is this place? He walked around the square, hearing bells ring about. As he passed a café, he heard some hens gossiping on some 'Vox Populi'. Quirking an eyebrow, he looked at them but he continued to walk.

'_Did I get sent to another world or something_?' He thought. He saw some children playing by a fire hydrant and he spotted a carriage up ahead. Don't they use Model-Ts? Those were always reliable. Then as he got closer to the horse, his eyes rose up again.

The horse was…some kind of machine. There was an orb with electricity at the center of it's back and it jerked to and fro at times.

'_They…made _that?' He shook his head. '_Doesn't matter. Find a landmark. Something. Anything_.' The sounds of drums made him turn and saw some zeppelins pass by! And they had signs, as if they were part of a parade. '_What is this? Pasadena and the Rose Parade?_'

He noticed the signs, a man in a field being greeted by an angel, Comstock pointing the masses towards the heavens, and Comstock with a woman and a child, and listened.

"After the victory of Wounded Knee, the angel Columbia did present herself to Father Comstock, and show him a vision of the future. And so our prophet led the people away from the Sodom Below, up up into the city, where they created an even more perfect union. But it was the miracle child, the Lamb, that is the future of our city."

"Wounded…Knee?" Booker said in surprise. Did Comstock fight at Wounded Knee? And how can he say that was a victory?

He was wrong. Dead wrong. But he pushed back the memories. He can't be distracted now.

"For the Prophet has said that she in the tower will lead the Sodom Below into righteousness."

'_A prophet claiming Wounded Knee was a victory and making the founding fathers messiahs? Not buying this bullshit one bit._' Booker thought to himself as the bridge connected the floating islands and he and other people crossed. He heard the policemen mention something about a…raffle? As he walked across, he spotted a sign with happy children on it.

"'_Columbia Raffle and Fair_.' Huh." 'So this place is called Columbia.' He mentally added. As he climbed the stairs, he spotted a poster that caught his attention as he inspected it. It showed a dark figure in a staff and black cloak on a yellow brick road, offering his hand to a frightened baby lamb and in the distance, that Angel he saw when he entered Columbia appeared before him.

**THE FALSE SHEPARD**

**SEEKS ONLY TO LEAD**

**OUR LAMB ASTRAY**

"Who is this girl?" He said aloud. Climbing another set of stairs, he found himself before the massive golden angel. It looked larger than the Statue of Liberty!

"Telegram Mr. DeWitt!" Said a voice, making him look down, seeing a boy holding a telegram in his hands.

"huh…" Booker offered his hand and accepted the telegram. The boy gave him a salute and ran off. The ex-Pinkerton turned over the telegram and read it out loud.

"DeWitt STOP

Do not alert Comstock to your presence STOP

Whatever you do, do not pick #77 STOP

Lutece…What the…?" Booker shook his head. Who was Lutece? Don't pick 77? Don't alert Comstock? What did that mean? He turned right and continued walking, seeing another large poster with the same angel, with a lamb radiating light at it's center.

**THE TOWER PROTECT THE LAMB**

**FROM THE FALSE SHEPARD**

'_This False Shepard guy sounds like bad news_,' Booker mentally commented. Up ahead, he saw a gate with two constables standing watch.

"You wanna let me through here pal?"

"Streets closed for your safety fella," replied the policemen. "They're prepping tonight's fireworks back there."

"There's enough TNT back there to blow Peking to Kingdom Come…again."

Peking. The Boxer Rebellion. The event of Chinese attacking foreign interests in China between 1898 and and the turn of the century. Countless people, both Chinese and foreigner, died during that period of time. He shook his head, no need for a history lesson.

"Better find another way around." He said to himself as he turned around jogged away and climbed the stairs and entered into a place of festivity and fun.

'So, this is that raffle and fair huh?' He said as he strolled through the carnival, hands in pockets. Better find a way through this fair. He noticed people doing...strange things, like floating in mid-air. Could those be whatever those...Vigors were? But he also spotted some bright flashes coming from a tent, and the sound of gunfire and laughter. Must be from a shooting gallery. As he walked through the fair, he spotted a woman carrying some green bottles of...something.

"Dear friend, have you ever lost a penny to a vending machine?" Cooed the woman carrying the basket of bottles. He spotted free sample behind her.

Eh, why not?

"Give me one of those." Booker said coming up to the woman. The brunette smiled mischeviously.

"With just a whisper...they are all yours…" The ex-Pinkerton removed the top and drank.

* * *

It took every trick he knew, and a lot of raw willpower, for Jack to calm himself down and think his situation through.

He was out in the open, that was one thing. Above him was a bright blue sky, without a single cloud, and the air was as fresh as a country springtime. Under better circumstances it might have been a pleasant place to visit, but for now he had to find a way out of this place, and get back home. In that respect, being out in the open had to be a good thing, open spaces being relatively easy to get out of.

Jack looked around, searching for a way out. At the opposite end of the courtyard was a pair of tall wooden doors, set into the wall of a very large stone building in the neo-classical style. Booker strode over to the doors and, with a caution he had thought he had forgotten, touched one of them. The door eased open, enough for Jack to peer around. There was no one in sight. Steeling himself, Jack pushed the door further open and stepped around it.

He found himself in a tall, wide chamber, lit by sunlight streaming in through great high windows. Between the windows stood Greco-Roman columns, and just beyond was the open sky, with what looked like clusters of buildings in the near distance.

Jack stepped forward, then jumped at the sound of cheery, tinkling music. He looked to his right, and saw what looked like a man's upper torso, jerkily waving its arms and staring past him. He stepped closer, wondering what it could be.

It was a vending machine, named Dollar Bill if the neon sign above it was any indication. No wonder the damned thing had shocked him so; it looked just like the machines he had seen down in Rapture.

Worryingly so.

Jacked glanced back, and saw another similar machine standing to the left of the door. It was almost exactly the same, but named Veni Vidi Vigor! He wondered for a moment just what the machines vended, but the question was made academic by the fact that he had no change.

Of more immediate relevance was the pair of wooden barricades, standing either side of the door, each marked **POLICE DO NOT CROSS**. Jack wondered why they had been put there, especially since there were none of the implied police around to guard them.

He moved further away from the door, and realised that he was on a balcony, with stairs set to his left and right, leading down to the floor below. The whole arrangement put him in mind of a railway station, and as he looked over the parapet he could see that the floor below was a pair of platforms, set either side of two sets of rails leading out and down away from the building.

As he moved to descend the right-hand staircase, he saw a poster set on the back wall, where anyone stepping off a train could see it clearly. It showed a human hand pointing towards the doors, with the words **MONUMENT ISLAND** underneath. he words were written in big fancy letters, reminding him of one of those old wartime posters. But what drew his attention was another sign posted above the hand, with the word **CLOSED** in big black letters. Next to the word was an oval picture of a man in profile; an old, dignified-looking man with white hair and a long, neatly-trimmed beard.

Well, if the place was closed, there was little chance of a train coming. He needed to find another way out of this place. He looked around again, but there were no other doors. Seeing no alternative, he strode along the platform and out into the sunlight.

What he saw froze him stiff. All around him was a carpet of white cloud, dappled with clusters of buildings like so many mountain peaks. He could see shapes moving between them; zeppelins! Honest-to-goodness zeppelins in all shapes and sizes!

Where was he? What was this place?

Jack staggered closer to the handrail, staring here and there through wide-eyes, enraptured and yet terrified. Never, not in his wildest dreams, had he imagined such a place.

He saw the clouds shifting, a gap opening up in the cotton-candy carpet. The clouds drifted, moving away from the nearest mountaintop.

But there was no mountaintop.

Jack stared, in horrified disbelief. The buildings were hovering in mid-air, their bases ringed with what looked like blimps. But no blimp could hold up a building! It was…it was…

He staggered back, shaking his head, his stomach cold and churning. It wasn't real! It couldn't be real! Was he even in the same world?

Could he ever get home to his daughters?

He stood where he was, neither seeing nor hearing, lost in mingled horror and despair, until a low throbbing hum drew his attention. He looked up, and saw a zeppelin passing by, maybe a few hundred yards distant. He stared at it, and in spite of everything he managed to be awestruck at the sight. He had never even been this close to a blimp, let alone a true zeppelin. The envelope gleamed silver in the sunlight. The gondola below it was quite large, with room for quite a few people. The engines were set to the rear of the gondola on either side, each held between stubby biplane wings.

It was actually quite odd. Jack had seen plenty of pictures of blimps and zepplins, but none like that one.

He saw movement. There was an open walkway along the side of the gondola leading to the wings, presumably for in-flight maintenance. There was something on it, swiveling towards him.

Jack didn't know why, but he was already moving, bolting back towards the station. The machine gun chattered, sending a hail of bullets tearing into the platform where he had stood an instant earlier. His nerves were on fire, his heart hammered as he sprinted across the open platform and through the arch. He flung himself behind one of the columns and pressed himself against the wall, waiting for the bullets to tear his flesh and end it all. For what seemed like an eternity the bullets clattered on the stones nearby.

And then it was over. He could hear the engines receding. Maybe they thought they'd got him.

Then he heard a new sound, a ringing of metal on metal above him. He looked up, and for the first time noticed the metal wires strung up in the air like electric cables. He could see them vibrating, and he realized that they were what was giving off the ringing noise.

And it was getting louder.

Jack hazarded a look around the column, and stared in wonder as two shapes detached from the rail and dropped lightly to the platform. Both were human, and both were armed. Jack pressed his back against the wall, trying to steel his nerves as he heard their approaching footsteps.

"He couldn't have lived."

"Not likely, but let's make sure."

Jack waited, heart thundering in his chest. He could hear them coming closer; he could hear their heavy breathing, smell their tobacco. Closer, closer, ever closer. He had one chance, maybe.

He moved. He felt himself rounding the pillar, barreling straight into the nearest of the two. He heard the man's cry of surprise, and the deep grunt as Jack's shoulder knocked the breath out of him. He felt himself falling, bearing the unfortunate soldier to the ground. He felt the impact, then rolled off him into a crouching position.

He looked up, and saw the man's companion, clad in an old-style blue-grey uniform. He had a blue helmet on his head, and a look of stunned disbelief on his face. But Jack knew better than to hesitate, and he thrust out his hand, praying to any god who happened to be listening that it touch something useful.

It closed around something, and Jack threw it at the soldier. It was a leg of a bench, shattered by the machine gun fire, and it caught the soldier in the face.

"Son of a…!"

It had bought Jack precious moments, enough to spot the fallen soldier's gun. He grabbed at it, pulling it into his hands. The soldier saw him, but too late, as Jack squeezed the trigger. He felt the familiar kick as the sub-machine gun roared, and the soldier screamed as he was flung back, blood spurting from his chest.

But then Jack was moving, knocked to the ground by a swinging blue-clad leg. He tried to pull himself up, and saw the other soldier rising, face twisted with rage. He brought up the gun, but before he could fire the soldier swung his arm, knocking the gun from his hands.

"I'll tear your head off!" snarled the soldier. He brought back his arm, and Jack saw what it was carrying; some kind of gauntlet or bracer, topped with what looked like a rotor with four curved blades. Jack saw the arm fall, the blades aimed straight between his eyes. He grabbed frantically at it, the blades stopping less than an inch from his face. The soldier growled, trying to force the weapon down. Jack pushed back with all his might, but knew that he was losing. He was about to die, and the girls would be alone.

Alone.

Frantic, desperate, he lashed out with one foot, catching the soldier on the knee. The soldier yelled, and Jack pushed forward with all the strength in him. The soldier's arms buckled, and Jack pressed on hard, driving the whirling blades into his face. The soldier screamed as the blades tore his face open, blood fountaining from his ruined flesh.

And it was over.

Jack slumped back and sat, breathing heavily, feeling the hot blood on his face.

He had done it again. He had killed.

"Another scrappy one," commented a louche voice from nearby. Jack looked up with a start, and saw a well-dressed man and woman standing nearby.

"Who...who are…?!" he babbled. How had they gotten there?

"I had no idea he was coming," the young man went on. "Did you?"

"I didn't," replied the young woman. "But here he is."

"Or here he was."

"Or here he might be."

Jack stared at the pair in mute bewilderment. They were so...alike. Both had reddish-brown hair, styled differently and yet similarly. They were male and female versions of the same outfit. Even their faces were almost the same. Were they twins or something?

"Who are you?" he managed to asked. "How did you get there?"

"I'd say that proves my theory," said the woman.

"A random element?" asked the man.

"You have a better hypothesis?"

"Answer me!" Jack yelled.

"I think you'd better," the man commented. "He's getting upset."

"Just...please…!" Jack shuddered, his heart twisting with mingled anger and despair. "Something brought me here, took me away from my family! I just want to get back where I came from!"

"Of course you do," the woman replied mildly. "He runs from, you run to."

"What're you talking about?!" snapped Jack, at the end of his tether. "Please, if you know something! Anything!"

"We know something," said the man, his face expressionless. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Are not," quipped the woman, "but is."

"You see our problem," the man went on.

"No I don't!" Jack barked. "And it doesn't matter! Just tell me how to get back home!"

"We told you," replied the woman.

"Will tell you," added the man.

"We can't solve it."

"But he can."

"You mean she can."

"Who?" demanded Jack, wishing they would just talk normally. "Who can?"

"You'll meet them soon," the woman said.

"Or you can go looking for them," suggested the man.

"You mean looking for him."

"But he hasn't found her."

"That's neither here nor there."

"She is here, and he is there."

Jack was just about ready to murder the both of them. But they were, for the moment, his only chance of finding a way home.

"Look, fine, I'll…" He trailed off, as the woman proffered a silver coin. The man was, for some unintelligible reason, wearing a sandwich board with a blackboard front. There were two columns chalked on it, marked Heads and Tails. There were several tally marks under Heads, but none under Tails.

"Heads," the woman asked, "or Tails."

Jack rolled his eyes, and took the coin.

"Tails." He flipped it, and the coin spun through the air to land on the woman's plate.

"You were right," the man commented, as the woman chalked a tally mark under Tails.

"I'm always right," the woman replied.

"What does that mean?" Jack asked.

"I…" The woman paused. "No, let's not start that again."

"Go out the way they came in." The man gestured at the bloodied corpse, with the strange gauntlet still embedded in its skull. Jack saw it, and realized what they meant. He looked up to speak to them, but they were gone.

"This is just too weird."

It was, but he had no choice. Trying to ignore the smell of blood, Jack reached his hand into the gauntlet and pulled it from the corpse with a nauseating, yet painfully familiar sucking noise. He looked up at the wire, wondering how he was supposed to do it.

"Oh well," he said, to no one in particular. "Only one way to find out."

A thought occurred. He picked up one of the dropped sub-machine guns, then patted down the two corpses for ammunition. He was a little worried at how easily he was handling this, but there was no time to dwell on it. Jack let out a sigh. Back to the grind of killing to survive. And it didn't feel good that this felt all too familiar to him as well.

"Take two." He raised the gauntlet to the wire.

* * *

**OZ: Surprise! Bet you didn't see this one coming! Anyways, I have had this idea prickle at me ever since I played BioShock Infinite. So now I have more main projects on my plate, but since this is collab with me and Juubi, this will get updated faster as his writing always turns on my muse. NOT IN THAT SENSE.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Me and Juubi-k do not own BioShock. 2k and Irrational Games do.**

* * *

_'Well that was a waste of time'_, Booker mentally commented as he walked through the city. Those two people, the man and woman with that Heads-and-Tails tally blackboard were odd. Then those children singing that song?

Then again, Ring-around-the-Rosie was based on the Black Plague. A song about some bird dropping a misbehaving child from the sky shouldn't be odd, considering this sky city.

He walked down the stairs, seeing more of the city in the clouds, and saw a statue of a man in a suit holding something, and beyond that he saw it.

The angel. '_Bingo_.' He turned back and his eyes went up.

The statue was…a woman now? 'What the…' He shook his head. Maybe the near death-by-drowning or drinking that green Vigor that let him get past that gate is making his eyes see things. As he walked forward, he saw an archway with the Columbia Raffle and Fair banners draped over it, but a sign at the center got his attention and made him raise his eyes. It had a black demonic hand with the initials AD on it.

**YOU SHALL KNOW**

**THE FALSE SHEPARD**

**BY HIS MARK!**

"What the…?" Booker said to himself. This was getting a bit too creepy as he looked at his right hand, the scarred mark of AD on it. He walked past the sign, putting his hands in his pockets as he saw a garden up ahead and began to climb up the steps, seeing other people socialize and having a good time. He got to a fountain and began looking around, seeing an open gate. He walked through it, and saw a mass gathering of people before a theater, a man in a top hat and suite conducting them.

"And now, the 1912 Raffle has officially begun!" Called out the man in a jubilant tone. Booker stood at the center of the raffle, then heard a female voice waving her hand at his direction.

"Hey mister! Mister!" He turned, seeing a young woman holding a basket of baseballs gesturing him to come over. "Mister, wouldn't you like a ball?"

"Sorry, no sale." Booker replied. The girl giggled.

"Silly. There's never a charge for the raffle. You've been sleeping under a rock?" Booker shrugged. Hey, can't turn down free stuff. He reached in and grabbed a ball and looked at it.

"Seventy-seven…" That number that the Lutece warned him about.

"Seventy-seven?" The girl asked. "That's a lucky number. I'll be rooting for you." She threw him a wink and walked off.

"Bring me the bowl!" The man with the top hat called out, and he possessed a big moustache to boot, gesturing towards a woman carrying a bowl. He grinned. "Is that not the prettiest young white girl in all of Columbia? Ha ha!"

"All right then…" He reached into the bowl, scurffling around to find a random number. He pulled out a red card. "The winner is…" He looked at it. "Number seventy-seven!"

"Well what do you know?"

He heard a woman shouting out towards him, saying that he's the winner, and Booker felt his eyes meet with Mr. Top Hat. "Number seventy-seven, come and claim your prize!" A piano playing 'Here comes the Bride' began to play as the red curtain began to lift up.

"First throw!"

Booker's mouth dropped as he felt his heart pause. As the crowd began to cheer for him to make the First Throw. The arrangement of fake plants and trees moved, revealing cartoonish monkeys, one as a groom, the other as a bride. And at the center were two people, one black and one white and dressed in rags and bound by a pole.

"No…please don't do this…" Said the black woman.

"It was me. It was all me!" Yelled out the man, his accent being Irish. "Please, please! No…" And a dark monkey, with hideous teeth and red eyes rose up, looking stupid and carrying a book as if it were the priest presiding over this twisted marriage. "Please, what are you doing?!"

Booker will admit, he was never fond of racism and hated those men down in the south below Virginia who would never let go of the past, never move ahead with the times that despite the color of skin, blacks were people too. He never drank next to them, but if a seat was open he wouldn't mind at all. And the fear that they had in their eyes…

And the people all around him…cheering him on to throw a ball at them. Are they so depraved? So resentful and hateful? They even wanted the Irishman to get pelted at too. So it wasn't a matter of skin color or ancestry. It was both. These people of Columbia…

They are twisted. They are racist. They are evil.

"Come on," Mr. Top Hat said, hands on his hips as he looked down at Booker. "Are you gonna throw it, or are you taking your coffee black these days?" Booker looked at his ball as the man laughed heartily at his joke.

"Let her go please! I'm the one you want!" Booker snarled as he prepared to aim at the couple. But he knew where his true aim was. He would direct it at the last moment, and pelt the announcer right in the eye. Or nose. Or knock several teeth out. He was a good pitcher back when he was younger, and his arm was still as strong as ever.

"I got something for you, you son of a bitch!" He seethed as he prepared to throw-

But his arm got caught, held by someone else. He turned, seeing a policemen holding his right hand, and AD was exposed.

"It's him!" He felt himself be held by another constable as the announcer approached. He heard gasps behind him as the crowd dispersed away from him.

"Now, where'd you get that brand, boy?" Asked Mr. Top Hat, his affable tone gone, now condescending and harsh. "Don't you know that makes you the back-stabbin', snake-in-the-grass False Shepard?"

"The False Shepard!" Yelled out another as Booker growled under his bindings as eyes of hate were directed onto him.

"And we ain't lettin' no False Shepard into our flock!" Laughed the announcer, his arms spread wide. Cries of women could be heard. "Show him what we got planned boys!" He pointed to the policemen as the man to Booker's left held up a wooden gauntlet with a spinning metal windmill. And it revved up, spinning fast and sharp and the ex-Pinkerton knew what was coming.

The spinning blade neared his fast, and he could feel the gusts of winds, and he felt the ball in his hands. He threw up into the air, the right policemen distracted by the airborne object.

It proved fatal. Booker grabbed the man by the back of the neck, and shoved him right into the blade, yelling and blood everywhere as Booker saw the policeman dropped dead, the gauntlet wedged into his skull. The ex-Pinkerton reached down and grabbed the gauntlet with his left hand, blood spraying as he took it out of the corpse.

"Stop him! Stop him!" Yelled the announcer, as he ran away. "The False Shepard's come to lead our lamb astray!" Booker immediately turned and swung his gauntlet, bashing the other policemen's head in and he fell dead. He turned, seeing other constables charge up, clubs raised.

One of them did a flying jump, but Booker struck, stunning the policemen and jammed the spinning blade to his throat. Booker pressed down on something hard, the blade tearing through flesh and muscle as he threw him towards the theater. He heard the announcer run off screaming like a little girl as Booker pivoted and swung at a yelling policemen. The blow stunned him, and Booker put in his strength and revved up the blades and swung.

He saw his head fly, blood splurting out of his neck as the corpse crumpled to the ground. Booker panted, feeling the adrenaline still pumping as he turned and ran up the stairs.

And more men with clubs came charging as Booker growled.

This wasn't going to be easy, but damn anything and everything that comes his way. He will survive and wipe away the debt.

He swung once, killing the first with a slice to the throat and dodged the second's club. He did a spinning backhand blow, striking the policemen and sending him flying down towards the theater. He never rose again. He turned and saw the giant Angel, the words **MONUMENT ISLAND **under it and ran towards it…but the bridge was drawn and he was cut off!

'Damn it!' He turned heard more shouting. More policemen were coming.

(X)

Lieutenant Barbara Young forced herself to appear calm.

This was it. For so many years they had watched and waited, prayed and prepared. But the time had finally come. The False Shepherd had arrived in Columbia, as was prophesied.

She gripped the handrail tight, narrowing her eyes against the wind as the hovercraft raced between the buildings. She glanced back and forth along the open deck, taking in her squad for the day.

Not much to look at. Eight men, all of them older than her, and all of them as nervous as she was. All wore the blue-grey, gold-edged uniform of the Columbian army; four in the short helmets with Royston Repeaters, four in the wide helmets with truncheons. Of them, only Sergeant Norton was a professional like herself. The rest were ordinary men with ordinary jobs, called up twice a year to do their duty as men and citizens. They were aggressive, foul-mouthed, and occasionally needed a well-aimed toecap to keep them in line, but they could fight, and that was what mattered.

That said, they could not have made for a greater contrast with the pair behind her. Barbara glanced back at them, and felt a shiver of mingled awe and disquiet. The nearer of the two

wore the same uniform as the others, but most of it was concealed behind thick pads of brown leather armour, his face hidden behind a mask. The patches on his arms were also different. Like all soldiers they bore a sword ringed with stars, the symbol of Father Washington, of military power, and of all the soldierly virtues. But unlike the patches on her arms, and those of her squad, the swords were crossed with keys; the symbol of Father Franklin, of science and learning.

He was a shocktrooper, one of Columbia's warrior elite. Barracked below-stairs in Comstock House, they stood ready to guard Columbia and the Prophet at a moment's notice. Some said they lived like monks in a monastery; their lives devoted to training and prayer. Others shared tales of riotous iniquity, of fallen women brought in by the hundreds, of liquor pouring from fountains, of pleasures the likes of which god-fearing men saw only in their most shameful dreams. One or two whispered of strange medical procedures, of bizarre and mysterious sciences known only to the Prophet and his closest scientists, enhancing and changing them into something more than men, and far less. Why else would they wear the key, the symbol of science?

If all that wasn't enough to make Barbara nervous, the one next to him was enough for anyone. A female officer like herself, though her uniform was purest white, her head concealed by a hood, her face hidden behind a silver mask in the image of Lady Liberty. Women like her were to the shocktroopers as Barbara was to the ordinary soldiers; officer, leader, inspiration, and threat.

The worse part was, she didn't know why they were there. Did someone upstairs think she needed the backup? Or was there some other reason?

She put the thoughts from her mind as the hovercraft slowed. She could make out the rear of the Blue Ribbon restaurant, just beyond two buildings. They had arrived.

"Listen to me, and listen well!" she barked. The eight turned to face her. Their faces were neutral, but Barbara knew what was going on behind them. Some of them saw her as an officer, to be resented and sneered-at behind her back. But to others, and there were always some, she would only ever be a woman. Nothing, not even the will of the Prophet, could remove that prejudice from their hearts.

"The False Shepherd has invaded our fair city, was was foreseen!" she went on. "There's no way to know if he'll come our way, but if he does it'll be for us to stop him! You will stand! And you will fight! And you will die if need be! But you will not shame yourselves on this day of days! The Prophet entrusts you with the safety of this city! With the safety of the Lamb! You will _not _fail!"

It had worked, she could tell. She could see the fire in their eyes, lit by the mention of the Prophet, but even more so by the thought of the Lamb. Some of them had been born in Columbia, others had come later, but they all knew the False Shepherd's intent.

"All right!" she barked, as the hovercraft drew level with the building. "Sergeant Norton! Move them out!"

"Yes ma'am! Squ-ad! Move out!"

Barbara watched as the soldiers dropped from the hovercraft's open deck to the roof below. She glanced back at the shocktroopers, wondering what they would do. The white-clad woman nodded at her male companion, who dropped lightly to the rooftop and followed the others. Barbara wondered for a moment what had passed between them, and felt a twinge of envy. Would she ever enjoy a bond like that? With anyone?

The silver mask turned to face her. Barbara wasn't sure, but she could have _sworn _the eyes were glowing.

(X)

Booker ducked under the fire of the automaton turret back in the plaza where he was on no less than five minutes ago. He got out of cover and fired back, before diving back in to avoid a burst of machine gun fire.

After fighting his way through the raffle, he killed a policemen carrying a Mauser C96 pistol which was called a Broadsider Pistol. Ironic that a flying city so steeped in American nationalism yet discrimative towards other cultures and nations would copy-cat a German handgun.

Suddenly he heard yelling as more enemies came flying down the sky-rails and landed, firing down at his position behind a garden. Booker remembered that power he had gotten at the raffle. A Vigor named 'Possession'. He used it to open that gate where he encountered those twins, could he use it on the turret?

He got out of cover and flung out his left hand, a green spirit flying towards the humanoid turret. Suddenly it turned green and began to fire on the policemen! Smirking, Booker rushed out of cover and with a trained eye began to gun down the now panicking policemen, emptying all twelve of his shots into three policemen. He dashed to a fourth who was behind cover from the machine gun and Booker swung his gauntlet upside the head of the policemen, stunning him. He then aimed the gauntlet at his neck, it clenched it and spun, and with a sickening crack twisted the policemen's neck, killing him instantly.

Booker tossed aside the corpse and reloaded his pistol. He heard a familiar pinging sound and turned, firing at the now De-Possessed turret and making it erupt with a single shot. The Vigor paid off. He sighed and wiped sweat off of his brow. He searched the corpses for any ammo and Silver Dollars, jogged down the street and under an archway. And a policeman came charging in like a fanatic.

One shot to the head and frothing man fell dead. Booker rolled his eyes, but saw flashes of gunfire and retreated to cover. Three policemen down the street. He got out of cover, aimed, and fired.

Back in the 7th Cavalry Regiment of the United States Army, he was a good shot with a rifle. And using a pistol was a cakewalk. He moved up and sprinted behind a column, taking shots at the policemen down at the end of the street. He saw one go down and his eyes spotted another man moving behind a wagon. He turned, fired, and the man died with a bullet to the head, falling face first into a store window. Booker got out of cover and jogged down the street, reloading, then aiming and firing at a policemen behind a produce vendor. Another man down.

Taking a deep breath, Booker searched for more ammo amongst the corpses and moved towards the curve in the road and saw a Salts bottle on a wagon. He took a sip of the elixir and tossed aside the bottle, turning towards a massive iron gate. He saw it cracked and pushed on it, then he felt the gate was rather warm. And so was the air.

"It's getting hot. What's going on?" He pushed past the gate, and saw numerous wagons, and a figure down at the end of the street.

"**BY THE NAME OF OUR PROPHET**!" The figure yelled, fire erupting from his fingertips as it began to spread amongst the buildings. Booker saw he was in armor of some kind. Well _this_ was going to be _fun_.

"Oh _great_."

(X)

Jack took cover from behind the doors of the restaurant and fired more from his machine gun, taking down more of those soldiers who were behind cover. There were several men outside as he ducked below a window.

He sighed in frustration. If he had ADAM he would make mincemeat of these guys. An Incinerate there, an Insect Swarm to that guy and-

No. Now isn't the time to be going down memory lane to that _nightmare_.

"Is he dead!" Yelled the men outside. "The Fireman is keeping the False Shepard busy! Men! Move-" Jack took advantage of the soldier's distraction by gunning him with a short burst, before turning and getting a head shot on his fellow. He ran up, avoiding gunfire from a panicked policemen as the soldiers were dead and swung his gauntlet, sending him crashing into a puddle of gasoline. Jack fired another burst, and the sparks from a bullet hitting the ground made the gasoline erupted into flames, roasting the screaming man alive. Jack looked away from the sudden increase in heat and turned right, seeing a massive explosion towards the burning buildings. Then he heard a pinging sound that sounded a bit familiar to those turrets-

"Shit!" Jack fell forward and took cover as a human looking turret firing on his position. Jack growled as he reloaded, and turned up and gave the turret a nice barrage of bullets before the machine exploded.

'_Those things were tougher than the ones in Rapture…and I doubt I can hack them either_.' Jack thought to himself as he stood up and brushed himself, feeling sweat dripping down his head. He turned and saw another massive explosion. Reloading his last clip, he slowly approached and took cover by a wall.

He saw a man, older than he was, bend over and pick up something near the corpse of a smoldering suit of armor. He had brown hair, and had a black shirt with rolled up sleeves, a blue vest, a leather pistol holster on his left arm, and black trousers with white vertical stripes. He then tossed something aside and…drank something? Jack raised his machine gun, just to be cautious and-

He was caught off guard by the fact the man was starting to _scream_, looking down at his arms. Jack lowered his machine gun.

"What the hell…?" He asked aloud as the man gave out a scream of agony, before he stopped, taking deep breaths as he was still looking at his hands. He had his hands on his knees, slowly turning around.

"That was no sample…" He replied…before his eyes met Jack's.

Immediately both men raised their weapons at each other, the man and his pistol, which looked similar to a Luger, and Jack his machine gun.

"What was that? Why were you screaming?" Asked Jack, eyes narrowed as he stared down the man. He got a better look of him, scruffle, a rugged complexion, and a messily done red tie. What kind of dress attire…is that?

"Why should you care? And what's with your get-up? You don't look like no Comstock goon."

"Goon?" Jack growled. "I'm anything but one pal! Now, drop the gun, I want to ask you some questions, and you're going to answer them!"

"Says who?" Sneered the man, his finger itching on his trigger.

"Says the man with bigger gun bucko. Drop it. _Now._" Jack bared his teeth and had his finger idly touching the trigger. Gunning him down would be so easy. He did it hundreds back in Rapture. He did it to monstrosities more frightening than that armored corpse by the man's feet. He did it a ADAM-raging hulk in Frank Fontaine, aka Atlas.

This guy ain't got _shit_ on him.

Yet something in the man's eyes seemed to reflect back at him somewhat. That he went through a similar ordeal Jack went through. But now wasn't the time for sympathy. He needed answers. Why is this city floating in the sky? Why are there people using early 1900s outfits and weapons. And how in the seven _fucking_ hells can he go back home to his daughters.

"And if I don't?" He replied.

"Take a guess Einstein." The man's eyebrow quirked up and his face looked confused.

"Einstein? Who's that?" Jack was almost ready to shout at him.

"Quit fucking around! Answer me, where the hell am I!"

"Oh yeah!" The man regained his composure. "You and what army?"

Suddenly the two of them heard yelling.

"The False Shepard!"

"Look! That's the man who escaped from the island! He's killed over a dozen of our men! Kill him!" The two of them turned, seeing policemen storm out of the restaurant near the gasoline puddles and Fireworks with some soldiers.

"Christ, they're just crawling out of woodwork." Jack growled. He looked back at the man as he dived towards cover behind a wall. Jack did the same, behind a column. He saw the man go out of cover, and his left hand was glowing red…

And the man threw it at the incoming policemen, and Jack could have sworn he saw a fireball escape his hand. "Incinerate?!" Plasmids!

And the fireball exploded, the gasoline and fireworks exploding as the policemen were incinerated to a crisp. Jack's mouth dropped, but a bullet whistling by his head brought him back to fight as he leveled his machine gun and fired a burst, killing the last straggler. Both men got out of cover, panting and turned towards each other.

* * *

**Sorry for the short chapter, but this is something of a bridger. And hey look, Jack and Booker meet face to face!**

**I can promise ya, future chapters will be longer in length. And you're in surprise for the next chapter. That's for sure~**


	3. Chapter 3

_1961, Rapture._

* * *

It was good to be King.

So J. A. Ryan thought as he stood at the window, gazing out over his domain as he took a drag from his cigarette. Beyond the glass Rapture stretched out before him, a city like no other. A field of art-deco skyscrapers amid the cliffs and outcroppings of the ocean floor, each glittering with a thousand tiny lights. Here and there he could see words in the gloom, the names of businesses, department stores, apartment blocks, restaurants. Every now and again a single letter flickered and died, turning names into nonsense words. To his right, a mass of bubbles rose up as another tunnel caved in.

Rapture was dying.

J.A smirked. If only they could see it now, this city they had struggled, suffered, and sacrificed to build. If only his _father _could see what had become of all his dreams, all his ideals. His perfect city, his refuge from a world he feared and hated, was crumbling into so much rust and ruin.

He supposed he should be worried, angry even. Sooner or later, without the thousands of technicians and engineers needed to keep it in working order, without the constant supply of spare parts to replace what couldn't be repaired, Rapture was falling apart. He had won a kingdom, only for it to crumble to dust in his hands.

But he wasn't worried. Why _should _he worry? He was no longer the innocent young man who had dropped into this place, lured by words on a page, words seared into his mind not long after he was born. He had faced the monsters Rapture had bred, and taken its power for himself. He was more than man, more than alive. He was a god. A god with an army of Splicers at his command, and a submarine packed with nuclear weapons. What _couldn't _he do with all that?

Wish enough ADAM into existence to keep his mind and body from destroying themselves, that was what.

He heard a skittering noise above him, a hissing and muttering through warped and twisted vocal chords. Face twisting with rage, J.A. spun around and thrust out his hand as his cigarette fell out of his mouth. Lightning leapt forth, striking the figure clinging to the ceiling above him. The splicer screamed, then hit the floor below with a thump. The body twitched, then fell still, smoke rising from its scorched flesh.

Such a simple thing, to destroy someone with lightning; the same lightning that coursed through his nervous system. But that simple trick had needed ADAM to twist his cells, turning nerve fibres into high voltage cables, and EVE to fill them with killing power.

He could live without EVE if he had to. His body contained every Plasmid Frank Fontaine had ever developed, and not all of them needed EVE to function. He would still have his body, his nigh-unbreakable bones, his mighty muscles, his quicksilver reflexes. He would still have his mind, packed with every scrap of knowledge he could find. He would still have the pheremone glands, which could bend Splicers to his will.

But ADAM…

J.A shuddered as he stared at the corpse, at the blackened and charred ruin that had once been a human being. What had he been before? Some bright-eyed entrepreneur? A great captain of industry, riding high on the Great Chain, revelling in the power that ADAM gave him? Had he been some lowly worker, packing his body with Plasmids to put food on the table? Or had he been a failure, one who couldn't hack it in Ryan the Lion's jungle of free enterprise, who had turned to Fontaine for food, shelter, and comfort?

It no longer mattered. It hadn't mattered for a long time. It had stopped mattering the moment he first injected himself with ADAM. From that moment on he had lived on borrowed time, his mind and body hostage to ADAM. But there had never been enough, not for so many.

J.A's lip curled and crushed the smoking cigarette butt under his shoe. He turned away from the corpse and looked out over the city again. Out there, on the ocean floor, was the cause and cure of his problem. His remaining Splicers were seeing to it, working themselves to death down in Fontaine Fisheries, harvesting the sea slugs from which the precious ADAM was extracted. With much of Rapture's population dead, there was finally enough ADAM to go around; but it was taking most of his Splicers to keep the operation working, and the death toll was considerable. Sooner or later, there would be too few to carry on the harvesting.

He would have to get out of there, before too long. He would have to go and find new followers, new _slaves, _to repair the city and harvest the ADAM. To save his kingdom, he would have to build an empire.

But for now, management.

J.A. turned and strode along the gallery. A door and short passageway took him to a wide, vaulted chamber. The room had once been an elegant foyer, with a pair of now-destroyed staircases leading up to a spacious balcony. Near the parapet stood five women, the ones the submarine had brought back from the surface the day before. They stared straight ahead, their eyes blank.

He smirked at the sight, remembering the night before. His power over their minds, the power that had made them obey, went far beyond the Hypnotize Plasmid. He could control a mind with the lightest touch or the tightest grasp. He could brush gently over it, hiding himself in plain sight, planting some small and simple impulse. Or he could tear it open like a ripe fruit, rearranging it thought by thought, feeling by feeling, instinct by instinct.

But which one?

J.A. nodded at the red-haired one. Without a word she followed him to the parapet. In the shadows below he could hear hissing and skittering, punctuated here and there with deranged mutterings.

"This one," he called out, putting one hand around the redhead's neck, "is for you!"

One expert twist, one wet crunch. He hefted the lifeless girl and dropped her down into the darkness. The skittering and chittering become a roar of racing hands and feet. Here and there he could see them, swarming over the walls and out of air vents, converging like wild beasts on the prey he had promised them.

After all, they deserved a _little _fun every now and again.

"How very merciful," drawled a familiar voice from behind him. "To snap her neck _before _you throw her to the beasts."

"Doctor Lamb." J.A. smirked as he glanced at her. "What brings you to this end of Rapture?"

"Just a social call." Sofia Lamb stepped closer, her gait casual, her face expressionless. At her shoulder was a stick-thin figure, clad in black, a ruined face shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat.

"Somehow I doubt it," J.A. retorted, turning to face her fully. "Nothing you say or do is without purpose. Not even with regards to your daughter."

Sofia's face did not so much as flicker, but the Splicer behind her hissed through a lipless mouth.

"Oh dear," J.A. quipped, almost laughing. "I've upset Father Wales."

"I suppose I may as well be honest," Sofia said mildly. "I do indeed have a reason for being here. It involves ADAM, or lack thereof."

"Ah…" J.A.'s smirk widened. "The one thing I have that you want. But if you want it that badly, _Doctor _Lamb, why are you talking to me?"

"Because in another respect I am in the same position as you," Sofia replied. "You need the bulk of your Splicers to harvest the ADAM, and they're dying faster than you can replace them. You could _try _and take my disciples, but doing so would only delay the inevitable. And if I were to try and take Fontaine Fisheries from you, I would find myself in the same position as you are now."

"In other words," J.A. concluded, "an impasse."

"Precisely," Sofia responded, adjusting her glasses. "We both oppose our respective..._philosophies_." She let it hang. "But we both know that Rapture is falling apart. One war within the city placed it in it's state. I'm not too wild of causing more ruin to this place as it is."

"So we have a common problem, or in this case problems: ADAM supply and demand and the city."

"Correct. You keep the peace and do not attack me despite our differences. Likewise, I do not do the same to you. So, I propose you have a method for dealing with our...issues."

"Whats the point!" Snapped Wales. "You know this..._fiend_ will never work with us!" J.A. smirked as he scratched his ears, his slitted yellow eyes showing an amused glint in them.

"Sofia please keep a muzzle on Father Wales. His barking is irritating on the ears."

"Why you mother-!" Wales reached into his suit for something before Sofia held up her hand.

"Wales. Don't. That's an order." She sternly said, her eyes hard. Wales' hand retreated from his suit and he stepped back, silent but J.A. knew he was fuming. "Ryan, while I found your retort...mildly amusing, please don't insult my companion."

"My apologies." J.A. turned. "Walk with me."

And they strode down the dark hallway together, Wales behind them.

"So, you want me to use my submarine to grab workers to work on the city, right?" He asked.

"That as well as more man power. You need the men to maintain the ADAM harvesting in Fontaine Fisheries, while I need men to repair the city at large."

"Obviously, that's all good and dandy. Except, where can we get the manpower?" Asked J.A. "No way we can go to the States and grab a dozen plus people a month. The CIA would notice and we don't need their kind sniffing around down here."

"One solution is to go to the Baltic Sea. I know for a fact that there are people...not too enthused in living under the Soviet Union," the blonde replied. "Not to mention the surplus of people there means that they wouldn't notice. Not to mention only the CIA knows of Rapture's existence. The Kremlin think of Rapture only as a myth. I take your submarine, convince the poor downtrodden people beyond the Iron Curtain of Rapture being a land of freedom and opportunity, to escape their oppressors in Moscow."

"We risk the chance of infiltration by the KGB though," J.A. commented. "If we continue fishing for human resources Moscow will notice. But," he smirked and shrugged. "What the hell." A door opened, and a desk with a bottle of vodka was present. "Sometimes you gotta roll the dice in the game of life. And with the Hypnotize Plasmid, we can turn them into mindless drones so we don't fear of any...incidents and it covers our tails in case any KGB do come down here."

Sofia then offered a slight smile. "Exactly. I suppose all the ADAM that went into you hasn't corroded your brain yet." J.A. chuckled back as he brought out several glasses.

"I read Dr. Lamb," He turned back, looking back at the woman. "Reading is akin to sharpening a sword with a whetstone, only for the mind." He poured a glass and offered one to the woman. "Care for a drink?"

"I have the ideal of 'my body is a temple'. I will have to decline I'm afraid." She responded as she turned towards Wales and nodded. "This has been a...most enlightening conversation."

"Likewise Dr. Lamb, you take care now." J.A. raised a glass in toast to the woman took a sip. Sofia and Wales left the room, though not before Wales throwing the King of Rapture a dirty look before the door closed.

J.A. sighed as he looked out the window and into the dark depths of the sea, the skyscrapers of his city standing tall. He can see some wildlife swimming, like a shark and a school of fish. Taking another sip, he noticed the sound of the Teleportation Plasmid being used.

"Hey boss," said a gravely voice.

"James."

"Why did you let her go? Don't you hate that broad?" Asked the Houdini Splicer. He covered his face with a rabbit masquerade mask to hide his deformity. J.A. saw in the reflection on the window of his swollen lips. Truly, Splicers were hideous creatures, regardless of age or gender.

Except for himself of course.

"Oh I do James. I _despise_ Sofia Lamb." He turned towards the Splicer, J.A.'s eyes sharp. "I hate everything she stands for and what she believes in. And she hates me in the same measure. Despite my dislike towards her, we both know that a war will ruin Rapture from the inside out. You wouldn't want death by drowning now would you?" He asked with a smirk.

"N-No boss. N-Not at all." J.A. set down the glass prowled towards the Splicer, who looked nervous as J.A. placed a hand on his cheek.

"Good. I can understand your curiosity, though I swore I made this room had no cameras. Explain why you're here. I won't bite..." J.A. stroked James's cheek with a tender smile on his face, and the Splicer looked like he was going to wet himself.

It wouldn't be the first time a Splicer came inside J.A.'s office and never came back out.

"M-Me and the boys found something weird. Down in Arcadia. It's...I got a photo to show ya." James reached into his pants pocket and brought out a photo and handed it to the man. J.A. took the photo and looked at it.

It was in front of a Gatherers Garden's vendor, and it looked like a shimmering floating blob. Like water running down glass.

"Is this an effect from a Plasmid?" He asked, turning towards James.

"Not that we know of Boss, no. We didn't know what it was, so we turned to you." J.A. handed the photo back to James, and finished his vodka glass.

"Very well. I will inspect it then. Show me." The yellow-eyed man took an EVE syringe from within his desk and tossed it towards James. "For your trouble. You have five seconds to leave the office. Five..."

James looked overjoyed getting a sample of ADAM, but immediately dispersed into red particles and left the room. J.A. reached again into his desk and got another blue EVE syringe, and injected himself with it, sighing in relief as he felt the gene-altering substance entered his veins. As much as he would love to spend some time with his ladies, this was something he never seen before. And the last thing he needs is for an unknown to be hovering in Rapture.

Better get this over with. Then, to drinking and fun with his hypnotized captives.

Or he could always remove the hypnotism. He made a smirk; just seeing their faces when they realize their new fate would be enough to rile him up.

J.A. left his office, and headed along a dark and dingy service tunnel. He could've taken a long stroll through central control, let the splicers gaze upon him in dread and awe, but he was in a hurry.

He moved from tunnel to tunnel, picking his way effortlessly through the dank innards of the once-great city, the grubby backroom to the glittering stage. How much easier it would have been if he had known about the tunnels? How much trouble could he have avoided? How much horror?

It had been an education, wandering through Rapture as it crumbled into ruin. He had come to see humanity as it really was, not as fake memories would have him believe. The Splicers had been terrifying, deadly, but ultimately just beasts; lost to madness as their brains rotted in their heads. Even the men and women they had once been were little more than drones, deluded by greed, with dreams beyond their talents.

The bathysphere clunked and groaned as the hatch closed, and J.A wondered for a moment if the damned thing was finally about to break down on him. But luck was with him, at least this once, and the bathysphere dropped down into the ocean.

It was only a short ride to Arcadia. As he stepped out into the Metro station, J.A. felt a strange twinge of...nostalgia. Here alone,in all of Rapture, could he experience something of life in the open air. Here alone there grew trees, and grass, and flowers. Here alone could he remember the life he had known before.

Even if most of it was fake.

The plants had survived, even thrived. With no one to manage them they had grown as they pleased, wrapping around and about one-another, roots and branches snaking along walls and floors. The grass was overgrown, reaching to his knees. Some of the lights still worked, flickering here and there, casting strange shadows amid the foliage.

One or two Splicers still lurked in the sylvan darkness. He could hear them clearly, and even smell them, though the odour of plants and organic matter in various stages of life and death was overpowering to say the least. For all the spookiness of the place, J.A. walked without fear. There was nothing, literally _nothing_, that could harm him in that place.

He looked here and there, his pupils expanding to catch the low light. He could see clearly in his mind's eye what he was looking for; a _something _in mid air, like water running down a window pane, or something like that. J.A. was a little surprised by how _curious _he was about the something, and how much he wanted to find it. It had been a while since anything _interesting _had happened down there. Even the surface raids were starting to become routine.

And then he found it.

It just..._sat _there, exactly as James' photo had shown. J.A. stepped closer, quite unafraid, his eyes taking in every detail. It was entirely flat, with no sides to speak of; just an image floating in front of him.

Staring at the _something_, trying to make sense of it, J.A felt something he had not felt in a very long time.

_Wonder._

There was an image in the looking glass. It was a building, no, a _palace. _No lesser word would suffice. It was vast beyond comprehension, a monolith in white marble, like something out of ancient Rome at its most overblown and decadent.

The view seemed to shift, and the monolith became three tall towers, each built upon what looked like a human head; as if some lunatic architect had removed three heads from Mount Rushmore, stuck them together, and built a palace on it.

He would probably feel right at home in Rapture.

It never occurred to J.A. that he might be in any kind of danger. So awestruck was he, so lost in a feeling he so rarely had the chance to enjoy, that he never considered what might happen next. He reached out with one hand, his mind boggling at what the phenomenon might be.

He touched it.

And he kept on reaching, reaching into the image. J.A. tried to stop himself, but it happened too fast; too fast even for his god-like mind. He felt himself falling, opened his mouth to scream.

But he wasn't falling. He was standing on solid ground, the wind in his hair, the sun on his face.

And before his eyes, the central of the three towers. He could see it up close now, and with perfect clarity. He marvelled at its neoclassical colonnades, at its tall windows and flying buttresses. It wouldn't have looked out of place in Washington DC, all the more so for he could see the Stars and Stripes fluttering from a flagstaff at the very top.

Except it _wasn't _the Stars and Stripes, or not exactly anyway. The thirteen stripes were all there, but the stars were all gone, replaced with a shield right in the middle.

Where _was _he?

J.A. looked around, seeing the bright blue skies and narrowed his yellow eyes, trying to get adjusted to the sunlight.

"The hell is this? The Chicago's World Fair on tour?" He asked as he began to walk towards the towering palace, turning his head as he saw the numerous zeppelins in the sky and clouds and-

"Clouds?" He said, finally catching on as he walked to the edge of the bridge…

"Jesus Christ!" He yelled, backing away, heart ready to leap out of his chest. He fell on his rear and took deep breaths, eyes wide in shock and surprise.

He was in the sky. J.A. looked around, yellow slitted eyes wide as he took in everything around him that wasn't the three-faced palace.

Zeppelins in the skies, buildings of the early 1900s on clouds, floating.

It was astounding. Amazing.

J.A. felt his lip twitch up and he began laughing. "Fuck!" He guffawed, standing up as he took in the humor of it all. He, who ruled over a metropolis built under the sea, is flipping out over a city in the sky?

It was making him laugh hard, and he wiped his eyes as he regained his composure.

"Oh man…" He said as he looked around. "If James knocked me out, or someone spiked my wine." J.A. chuckled. "Thier ass is grass. Like, I'm LITERALLY going to turn their ass, into grass blades."

Suddenly he heard loud whirring and propellers as he saw a massive zeppelin leave the palace he was about to enter and fly overhead, ignoring him. Another whirring sound came to play as he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. It was some kind of flying gondola, or a boat. He pocketed his hands and saw the boat approach.

"Halt citizen!" Said a person over some crude loudspeaker. It sounded ancient, making J.A. scratch his head a bit. Clearly they are not up to the times. "You are trespassing on the property of the Prophet Father Comstock! Surrender, and we will return you to the city!"

"Prophet?" J.A. asked aloud. Then he sighed...and vanished into red particles.

He found himself aboard the same gondola, seeing several men in shoddy uniforms with raised weapons pointed in the vicinity he once was before.

"Where did he go!"

"He just vanished! Is he with the Order of the Raven?"

"No way that was red! The Order when they vanish there's a crow's cry when they use that Vigor! Is it a new model?"

"No way, we would have known and Fink would have made a giant sales release on it!"

J.A. leaned back and observed the conversation between the frightened soldiers, smirking he raised his hands.

"Riiiiiight here." He oiled, the three soldier's heads turning in surprise. His hands lashed out, Electrobolt workings it's wonders as he shot lightning into two soldiers, frying their insides as they stood up, shivering as if having a seizure before crumpling into a heap.

J.A. teleported again to avoid gunfire, and appeared behind the sole frightened soldier and pushed him to the floor, he pounced, getting on top with a hand at the man's throat.

J.A. grinned from ear to ear, now that the man was looking at him face to face. He saw the color drain from his body and his eyes widen and his struggle intensify.

"D-Demon! You're a demon!" He wailed, trying to escape his grasp. J.A.'s snake-like eyes curled up in amusement.

"Demon? I wouldn't call myself THAT my friend...more like...a modern marvel." He growled in a low husky voice as one hand took two fingers and traced them down the frightened man's cheek up and down. "A marvel made by the hands of those who would defy God, spit in his image and tarnish it. Besides, wouldn't all men be considered demons, for they defied God's order and listened to the serpent, eating from the tree of knowledge? Now…" He raised his hand, a green orb of the Hypnotize Plasmid appearing out of thin air. An idea circulated in his head, but for right now. He needed answers. Where was he? What happened? And how can he get back to Rapture?

J.A. Ryan licked his lips as he loomed over the man, his eyes staring right into his frightened weak soul.

"_Would you kindly..._take me to Father Comstock's office?" He threw the orb.

* * *

**Boom! Here comes EvilJack, ready to join the party that is the Columbia War!**

**Collaberated between me and Juubi-k**


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